Tag Archives: this sucks

Eternity and no time at all

It’s been 2 weeks since Chow died… yesterday would have been her 7th birthday.

It feels like she’s been gone forever, and like it was just yesterday. 

Ordered new name tags for the other two yesterday because Shutterfly had a promo going. Both L and I felt like we should be picking one for Chow also…

It’s so weird without her here. 

My anxiety is hitting hard again, especially days when I work at the front desk at the kennel. It feels really wrong without her there with me. I bring the other two, but they get noisy and need to be sent back into the kennel when that happens… Cow would just sit quietly with me and I didn’t have to worry that she would disrupt things. 

The other two dogs are also experiencing a lot more anxiety. They don’t want to be left alone anywhere. They used to tolerate being home alone for a few hours, but now the little guy barks himself hoarse. Sadie doesn’t like us sleeping in past 6:30 am anymore. If we are in the bedroom too long, she yells for us to wake up. She also panics a lot after we get home. She still sometimes goes outside looking for hints of Chow in all the spots she used to frequent… neither tolerates that half-hour alone in the camp room at work between the time we get there and the time camp actually starts…

I still expect chow to knock me in the head with the bathroom door if I don’t close it all the way. Both L and I look for her to pick up dropped food in the kitchen… 

It really sucks…

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Ashes- mixed media panel

It didn’t start out specifically as something related to the loss of Chow, but it ended up that way…

I was just messing around with art supplies in an attempt to get myself unstuck from the grief. 

There were also 2 pages in my journal I played around with, but they are not finished yet. So far, they are just backgrounds: 

I  was experimenting with a rust texture set I dug out of the clearance section last week. This tag was the first thing I used the stuff on. I think it came out ok (much better than when I tried it on the blue page)… It will go on the blue page eventually. I can’t decide where to put it though. I really like how it pops when it’s in the bottom left corner, but I also really like the detail of that spot. I’ve been trying to make it work in other spots, but it seems to get lost in the chaos of the background anywhere else I try to put it. I might have to deal with covering up what’s easily my favorite area on the page. The other option would be to alter the tag or background in a way that allows the tag to be distinguished from the background. It may take me a while to figure that out…


Impossible things (a letter to no one) 

Sometimes I wish I could materialize you here in my living room, where I’m comfortable and engaged in art. It’s easier to talk sometimes when I’m distracted by the flow, but still connected to the inside. 

Sometimes it’s hard to fit all the talking into that hour. Sometimes it would be easier if we could just do art together and I could talk when things popped into my head; when they felt ready and comfortable to come up. 

It’s safe here alone with just the dogs and my art. Sometimes I wish I could start that way, but bring you in to talk to when I was able. Sometimes I wish you were here without me knowing, so I could get past that censor and shame, and maybe you could help me with the stuff that’s too raw to bring up out loud and in your presence. 

I could get lost in my art and music, and you could watch without me knowing. Then, you could blink in when I wanted to talk… it would be safe and non-threatening. I could communicate the things I’m too scared and ashamed to tell you about. 

And while we are on the topic of impossible powers, maybe it would be good if you could read my mind and tell me for sure if I’m making this all up. You could point out the lies and show me where I’m exaggerating. You could look at the stuff that’s all a jumble and help me understand it. You could take an outsider’s perspective without the emotion, and you could tell me I really am making it all up just because I need to feel worth your time and attention. I want attention… (and even as I think that, I can feel hands on my body and between my legs. It’s creepy. I don’t want attention. I don’t want to be special or pretty or paid attention to. I want to melt into the fibers of the carpet and hide away from everything. I want to disappear).  


Dissociation frustrations

Talked to Dr C about dissociation today, though I was pretty dissociated when we talked, so I don’t remember much about it. 

I mentioned disliking this state of half-knowing. I’d rather forget completely, without any of the side effects of merely dissociating things, but that’s not totally accurate. I’d probably lose part of myself if I totally wiped the memories… but remembering is overwhelming. It’s painful and distressing. I don’t know how to make it feel safe. 

I guess Wednesday we will talk about something related to all this, but I can’t remember what she mentioned. 

I’m so tired of this struggle. 


It’s futile

Every once in a while, I get up the nerve to try to explain why someone’s comments in support of trump are hurtful to others; that what the man stands for and how he behaves are abusive… and every time I come up against people telling me how wrong Hillary is. I didn’t bring her into the conversation, but that’s their only defense. 

I’m back to feeling like I did growing up; that there’s no escape because no one believes there’s a problem. 

I know a huge chunk of the country (and the world) is seriously disturbed by the election results, but it feels like our cries are falling on deaf ears… it’s futile to argue or try to change things…


financial ramblings…

I get that my financial issues are my own doing. I know I should have made better decisions and been more responsible, but right now the impact of my poor choices is hitting really hard.

We need a new car (if not 2, since the truck is still having engine issues). We have no savings and terrible credit (though L’s is much better than my own). That leaves us with VERY few choices by way of getting another car. The problem with that is that I need a reliable car to get to and from work, and to and from therapy appointments. Even if I were to quit my current job and try to find something closer, I’d still need to be able to get to Dr C. There really isn’t any affordable public transportation option in this area that would take me from home to her office. I’m NOT open to finding another therapist closer to me. It’s been a challenge to find someone I can work with, and someone who knows what they are doing around trauma. The only other female trauma therapist that has experience, space, and can work with me for more than a few months is actually further away than Dr. C and doesn’t take Medicare… Also, I like and trust Dr. C. I’m not switching…

So now we have to figure out how to get a reliable car that will run for more than a few thousand miles, AND be something we can actually acquire. I wish I hadn’t been so irresponsible with money. I wish I knew how to save (and had a way to make enough money monthly to allow us to save). I wish I had either the funds or the credit to just buy a car without having to worry that it will need major repairs in a few months. We have enough of that with our current cars…

I went looking into how to maybe get a car donated, or find a company that will help us get financing for a reliable car. Unfortunately, we don’t meet any of the criteria (and the waiting lists are several years long!). Family doesn’t have the means to help us out, and even if my family did, the strings attached to a car from my father are way more psychologically costly than not having a car at all…

I dunno… I’m trying not to feel totally hopeless about all this, but it’s really hard…


Hell is…

image

Went to a figure drawing thing at a local gallery tonight. The model was supposed to be a woman, but she was unable to make it at the last minute. One of the guys that had come to draw offered to model…

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I made it through the first 30 minute pose, but just barely. I focused on the light and the dark trying to draw the model. It was the only reason I was able to do it at all…

At the end of the first pose, I packed up my stuff and left. Tears started forming in my eyes as I walked out… sometime during the first pose, I had text Dr C about it. I was looking for permission to leave. She hadn’t responded at the point that I left, but I had no faith in being able to remain “together” for the other 4 poses. I lucked out with the first one – he had his back to me and I couldn’t see too much. I wasn’t about to push my luck with the other poses.

I fought tears the whole drive home. I couldn’t get the image of the model out of my head, but it wasn’t really the model… I cried harder when the body in my mind’s eye changed…

Dr C finally responded as I was pulling off my exit from the highway… “No, you need to know that you’re free to leave any room with an exposed penis in it.” (I had asked if it was a failure to leave after the first pose)…

L asked why I was home so early (the text that I was leaving early didn’t get to her). I clarified my initial text about the model not being able to make it. She asked if I was ok, and she saw through my fake answer… I wish I could explain what happened internally, but there are no words…

I poured myself a triple glass of whiskey. It’s helped to stifle my triggered reactions and the impulse to shred myself… idgaf that it’s not the greatest coping skill in the world, but I’m not bleeding, so whatever.